Marlin & Sally in Jerusalem

Lost Faith

(I didn't get a picture of the little girl in the story.  But someone in our group did get this picture of two boys.  If you want to read the sermon it is attached -- Download Vanity.8.3.07. )

I preached Sunday, but my heart wasn’t in it.  In fact, smack-dab in the middle of the message, I lost my faith.  It happened without warning.  One minute I am bringing the Word, and the next, I have nothing to say – from the Word to no word.  I went from looking out over the congregation seeking eye contact, to staring down at my notes, fighting the urge to step down from the pulpit and walk out of the building. Actually, run out was more what I felt like doing.

A picture flashed on to some part of my brain – left or right I couldn’t say.  But there it was, a snapshot that my mind’s eye had taken the day before.   I didn’t see it coming, but I should have I guess.  After all she kept me awake a good part of the night.  She was on my mind when I woke, and I was thinking of her as I sat on the terrace going over the sermon for the last time.  Seeing me sitting there, staring into nothing, Sally asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” I said.  I lied.  I was thinking about a different her than her, and didn’t want to talk about how this other she made me feel.

Then she just showed up in the middle of my preaching and drove away my faith.

She is four or five-years-old; I’m guessing four.  She is wearing a black dress; I’m guessing she wears it everyday.  She is barefoot; I’m guessing that she has shoes, but that they don’t fit.  She has a runny nose, the green kind of runny nose; I’m guessing she has the green kind of runny nose most every day.  She has empty eyes; I’m guessing she didn’t always have empty eyes.  I’m guessing the light went out of her eyes the day she found out that not all children live in a place with no place to run and play.

She is a Palestinian refugee, living in a refugee camp on the edge of Bethlehem, the place where Joseph and Mary came to be counted.  She doesn’t count.  She is only a number – 7,000 children in this camp of 12,000 people. She doesn’t count; I’m guessing she knows it.

Her eyes are empty, but mine are not.  Mine are filled with tears.  Someone coughs and I remember where I am, who I am – preacher.  I look up and see Sally with this panicked look on her face.  I’ve been preaching with her in the audience for almost 30 years now, and I’ve never seen her with that look on her face.  Well, actually that’s not true.  I saw it one other time – the Sunday I lost my faith in the church.

How is it that God allows this to go on?  How can God watch the light drain from the eyes of little girls in black dresses and not come rushing to the rescue?  Is God too damn busy to help this little girl in the black dress and empty eyes?  Does God count this little girl as one of his sheep?  Does God know this tiny sheep is lost?  Is God looking for her?  Does God know she is looking for him?

I don’t want God to take anything away from any other child in order that this little girl has a place to run and play.  Why does it have to be either/or?  Is God only able to love the one child – only Sarah, not Hagar?  Is God’s heart so small that there is no room in it for little Hagar?

I’ve lost my faith.  It’s a scandal, isn’t it?  I’ve seen too many children with empty eyes to believe that there is a God who cares, a God who has the power to do anything.  Oh, don’t get me wrong; I know that my missing faith is simply misplaced. I’ll soon find it. I know that there is a God who cares.  I know there is a God who has the power to do something about all this.  I know that God is angry.  I know that God loves that little girl in the black dress and the empty eyes.  I know all this because I know Jesus and I know that Jesus cares.  I know that Jesus has the power to transform the world.  I even know that the Spirit of Jesus will do just that.  I know all of this, and even more than this.  I just don’t believe it – not today anyway.

You get angry here.  You do.  You watch one people prosper as another people decline, and you get angry.  On one side of the divide you see parks and playgrounds and nice schools and fountains and swimming pools, and on the other you see none of these. And you know that there is enough land for all the children to have a playground. You know that the little girl in the black dress with the empty eyes could have the same opportunities to run and play and learn as the little girls on the other side of the divide.  You know this is true, and you also know that there is no heart to make it so, and no will to work for it.  You get angry.  You try not to, but you do.  You listen to politicians declare that the number one priority of the United States of America is to defend herself against Islamic extremists.  And you just want to weep.  You’ve see Islamic extremists, and Jewish and Christian extremists too, and you know that none of these is big enough or bad enough or important enough to be our number one priority. You’ve seen the little girl in the black dress and empty eyes, and you know that there are millions like her around the world, and you know in your heart that she is little enough and good enough to deserve to be every nation’s number one priority.  She’s not, and she knows she’s not, and you know she’s not too.  And here’s the kicker – God knows she is not number one with us as well.  I wonder how many times a day God loses his faith in us.

I smiled at Sally, shook my head, muttered something about “preaching to the choir,” and went on.  I preached.  I prayed.  I presided over the Lord’s Supper.  I shook hands and thanked people for coming.  I went home, took a nap, and moved through the rest of the day and night.  I got up Monday morning, put my feet on the ground and went to work.

My faith?  Don’t worry; my faith is just lost, not gone.  I’ll find it, because I can’t bear to be without it.  The good news for me is that God doesn’t panic when I lose my faith.  God understands, I think.  God knows that I’ll live like I have faith whether I have faith or not.  That’s why God likes me, I think – sees a little of himself in me, and in you too, I’d guess.  Thank God for that, huh?

God help us.  Come Lord Jesus.

Friday Prayers

Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher,
        vanity of vanities! All is vanity. (Eccl. 1:2)

¶ So if you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory. ¶ Put to death, therefore, whatever in you is earthly: fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, and greed (which is idolatry). On account of these the wrath of God is coming on those who are disobedient. (Col. 3:1-6)

¶ Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” But he said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” And he said to them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” (Luke 12:13-15)

Psalm 49:1-12

    Hear this, all you peoples;
        give ear, all inhabitants of the world,
    both low and high,
        rich and poor together.
    My mouth shall speak wisdom;
        the meditation of my heart shall be understanding.
    I will incline my ear to a proverb;
        I will solve my riddle to the music of the harp.
 
     ¶ Why should I fear in times of trouble,
        when the iniquity of my persecutors surrounds me,
    those who trust in their wealth
        and boast of the abundance of their riches?
    Truly, no ransom avails for one’s life,
        there is no price one can give to God for it.
    For the ransom of life is costly,
        and can never suffice
    that one should live on forever
        and never see the grave.
 
     ¶ When we look at the wise, they die;
        fool and dolt perish together
        and leave their wealth to others.
    Their graves are their homes forever,
        their dwelling places to all generations,
        though they named lands their own.
    Mortals cannot abide in their pomp;
they are like the animals that perish.

Let us pray:

Lord God of Abundant Life, we bless and thank you for hearts to pump, lungs to draw and expel wind, eyes to see, ears to hear, fingers to touch, skin to feel the touch of others, and legs to carry us out into the world.  For those who lack any of these, we ask gifts to surpass these in every way. We are in awe of the marvel that is us – above the angels in heaven, guardians of the creatures on earth.  Keep us vigilant, and virile, and visionary – ever alert, ever productive, and ever looking above and beyond.

Lord Christ of Abundant Life, teach us to number our days, to count each one as enough – to expect no more than this one, so that we might take out of this day, all you give, and so that we might give in this day, all we receive.

Lord Spirit of Abundant Life, move in us to make us one with you so that we will not fear – not fear living fully today, not fear dying fully today.  Holy Spirit, cast out our need to please the world, and like Jesus, create in us hearts that only seek to please God.   Settle us in our roles, so that we might not be drawn into the disputes of others, and thereby be distracted from the duties designed for us.  And protect us from greed.  And protect our nation(s) from greed.  And protect our world from greed.  And give us the courage of Christ to call greed, greed, and not cover this ugly word with flowery language.  The words are harsh – “fool” “dolt” “pompous.”  Ah most Holy Spirit, play for us music sweeter than these sharp notes, and give us ears to hear and tongues and lips to hum along. 

Lord God of Abundant Life, bless those who use today for peaceful gain.  Grant wisdom to the one whose month speaks wisdom; strengthen each who seeks to strengthen others; give hope to the one who gives hope to the hopeless; and press the humble to depths even lower than those to which that one has already stooped.  And Holy Spirit, shine light on the fool, and may that light be so bright and pure, that the fool may be able to see it too.

And should the fool be me,
and surely this could be;
then spare your wrath yet one more day,
and clear my eyes to see!

In the name of Jesus and by the power of the Holy Spirit.  Amen!

The blood of the Messiah ..

“The blood of the Messiah shed for you.”

And in Arabic no less.  The priest offered me the cup and then spoke the words of blessing in Arabic.  And I understood him.  (No, I’m not trying to impress you.  Well, maybe just a little.)

My grin caught him off guard, I think.  But I couldn’t help it, so pleased was I.  I grinned.  He paused for a moment, smiled back, shook his head, and then stepped over to the serve the next person lined up in front of the altar.  On the way back to my seat, got a little teary eyed, I did.  And why not?  This was a first, and I was moved.

After the service I thanked him – in Arabic of course – for speaking the words of blessing to me in his language.  He said, “You’re welcome my brother.”

Such a little thing, this … and yet, not so little.  This particular priest, a man in his early thirties if I had to guess, once served as an interpreter for me at an all Arab pastors’ conference.  He got to know me, then, and I, him.  He knows that I am studying Arabic.  He knows that I am serious about studying Arabic.  He knows that I live here in East Jerusalem.  He knows that means I'm serious about some things that he is serious about as well.  He likes me actually, hard as that might be for some of you to believe.  And I like him as well.  He has a sense of humor, which may explain why he likes me.  More likely, he likes me because I have a sense of humor, something sorely needed in this part of town.

The gift this Palestinian Christian Priest gave me was his acknowledgment of me as one not unlike him.  Not unlike him, and therefore, like him, with him, for him, and one with him.  In a word, “Communion.”  The priest gave me “Communion.”  And I accepted his gift with great joy – thus the grin he had to bear.

It strikes me now that what this priest gave me was the very same gift offered by Jesus in the Supper.  “I give you my acceptance of you as one not unlike me, one with me – me like you and you like me too.  And me, God-in-flesh-and-blood, and fleshy you too.  Receive me, and be received by me as you do.”

And I did.  Why wouldn’t I?  And I do.  Why shouldn’t I?  Over and over again, with each new day I choose to receive God in the flesh-and-blood person of Jesus.  And more importantly, I choose to believe that God in the flesh-and-blood person of Jesus receives me too.  Such a little thing for Jesus to do – receive me – and yet, not so little.  It was, after all, real blood, wasn’t it?

“The blood of the Messiah shed for you.”

And you too.  Yes, you!  And for all people in every language the same invitation.  That’s something to grin about – yes?  God loves the whole world, and every person in it.  Yeah, that’s worth a grin, and a tear or two too.